


The Midnight Driver

by silverchitauri



Series: The Pizza-filled Adventures of Clint Barton [1]
Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel (Comics), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol, Annoying Tony Stark, Avengers Family, Avengers Movie Night, Avengers Tower, Awkward Peter Parker, BAMF Natasha Romanov, Ceiling Vent Clint Barton, Circus Performer Clint Barton, Clint Barton & Kate Bishop Friendship, Clint Barton Feels, Clint Barton-centric, Clintasha - Freeform, Contests, Deaf Clint Barton, Dog Cops, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Human Disaster Clint Barton, Hurt Clint Barton, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Kate Bishop Is a Good Bro, Mentor/Protégé, Past Child Abuse, Peter Parker is a Good Bro, Pizza, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Kate Bishop, Sign Language, Team Bonding, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Why Did I Write This?, because I felt like it, injuries
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-04
Updated: 2019-02-04
Packaged: 2019-10-07 23:06:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17374934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silverchitauri/pseuds/silverchitauri
Summary: “Katie-kate! I’s me, Hawguy! Clint Barton. Uh, well, I w’s jus’ callin’ to say hey. Katie, the sky's so weird, don' you thinkso? I'so pretty. Anyway, bye Katie-kate!—“She clicked on the next message, sent 2:54 AM.“Hey, um, this is Natasha Romanoff. I’m just calling because, uh, Clint probably should go home right about now. Like, really soon. So, if you could come get him that would be great. Thanks. He won’t stop drinking.”“End of final message.”Kate groaned. “C’mon, Lucky. We have to go rescue our resident idiot from himself.”The dog looked about as happy as she felt.When Clint Barton, archer extraordinaire, Avenger, hero, isn’t Avenging, his apprentice Kate Bishop is his best friend and go to. And sometimes they get on each other’s nerves.OrFive times Clint was a complete idiot and Kate had to deal with him, and one time the whole team did.





	The Midnight Driver

**Author's Note:**

> Just wrote this for fun. A bit of Matt Fraction and David Aja’s Clint, and a bit Avengers MCU Clint.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That one ride home from the party.
> 
> Just close your eyes, the sun is going down  
> You'll be alright, no one can hurt you now  
> Come morning light, you and I'll be safe and sound

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m having Kate and Clint live in New York so that they can interact with the Avengers more. I know this isn’t in the comics sometimes, so please forgive me. It was just easier (and more fun). And it’s also in the Fraction-Aja run, which is the one I’m basing this off of.

When Kate Bishop dropped by for dinner at Clint’s place, she had at least expected him to be there.

No one answered when she rapped her knuckles on the wooden door.

After waiting a few minutes, she rang the doorbell. The only sound coming from inside was the deep, scratchy bark of Lucky, Clint’s one-eyed, loyal, pizza-loving mutt.

”Clint?” she called. “Clint, you in there? Or are you just ignoring me?”

No response. The only sound was the faint scrabbling of Lucky’s toenails on the linoleum. Another few minutes of sitting on the stoop passed before Kate ran out of patience. ”Clint, I know you’re in there, dummy. Open up. It’s Kate.”

No response. Maybe he had his hearing aids out. Probably not, though. This was Clint Barton, after all, who, no matter how goofy or idiotic or clumsy he could be, was a trained S.H.I.E.L.D. agent and former carnie. He never let his guard down, especially since the incident with the clown and the tracksuit mafia. 

So she waited. Kate was used to waiting. People called her impatient, but she’d done a lot of waiting in her short lifetime: waiting for her mother to come home, waiting for her father to notice her, waiting for Clint to see her as an equal, waiting, waiting, waiting. It was a useful skill to have as an archer. Sometimes a target had to be in just the right spot before you could shoot. If you shoot to early, you could miss and also blow your cover. If you shoot to late, you would also miss, and it would put you in a more vulnerable position if someone else attacked.

Just right, and _boom_. Nailed it. And Kate never missed.

But sometimes, waiting got you nowhere. Like with her father, who never noticed her, not even when she was kidnapped for ransom. Or when, despite trying to be as good as Clint, better than Clint, she still hadn’t met the Avengers.

And like now, when, after ages of waiting for her mentor, there was still no sign of him.

She leaned against the doorframe and checked her watch. 

They had agreed for six thirty. Add on some grace period (Clint often needed some for Clint reasons) and that got you to six forty. Maybe even six forty-five if you really stretched it. Add traffic, and you’re at six fifty or even seven o’clock.

When you’re a superhero/insanely good sniper, an emergency would only get you to maybe seven ten. Idiocy got you to seven twenty.

Her watch face read seven thirty-five on the dot.

She waited for a few more seconds, before sighing. After fishing through her pocketbook, she found her purple spare key with the little arrow design decorating the top rim and slotted it into the keyhole. 

They’d each exchanged spare keys in case of emergencies, which, as one Avenger and one Avenger-in-training, happened quite a bit. Occupational hazard.

This counted as an emergency, she decided. He wouldn’t know the difference, anyway.

She could always say Lucky let her in.

Pushing her way past the enthusiastic dog, she stepped into the kitchen. All the lights were off in the kitchen, which was a pretty good qindication that Clint probably wasn’t just on a walk.

“Clint?” she called again, picking her way around the boxes and papers strewn around the room.

God, they needed to clean this place up soon. It was starting to become borderline dangerous, only a few plastic cups away from being a biohazard zone. She’d meant to remind him about a month ago, but after the aliens, there had been an evil robot attack, and then he’d been assigned a mission, and then there had been that whole Hammer Industries mess, and they had never really had time to catch up.

Then, when he phoned in about a week ago, she’d let her traitorous hopes get the better of her. Maybe this time he would be able to stay for a little while and just be her mentor.

Of course that hadn’t worked out. That would’ve been too good to be true.

She looked in the loft where Clint slept. She always got a kick out of the fact that he slept in a loft. Of all the places to choose, he had to choose the most birdlike one. It reminded her of an eagle’s eyrie but way more messy and covered in dog hair. The sheets were rumpled and untucked; clearly someone had slept here recently, but there was no sign of Clint.

She knocked on the bathroom door.

No Clint.

She even went to the roof of the building where he sometimes could be found, sipping a beer or talking to the neighbors.

But the blonde Avenger was nowhere to be seen.

She double checked the counter to be sure that there wasn’t a note or something telling her where her coffee-obsessed mentor could’ve gone. Nada.

She sighed again, resigned to the fact that either Clint was really, really late (totally possible; this was Clint Barton, after all), had completely forgotten (again, totally possible), or was in some dire life-or-death circumstance. Wouldn’t be the first time it happened.

But she never stopped hating when it did.

Sometimes it seriously sucked having an Avenger as a mentor.

She knew she was incredibly lucky, but sometimes it felt like being sidelined on the bench while your team went to the Super Bowl and won everything. Or watching a band you dropped out of win a Grammy while you sat on your futon eating mac 'n' cheese. Only the saddest part was she wasn’t even officially part of the team. She hadn't even met them yet.

Yes, Clint was keeping her secret “for her own safety”, but he could really be a worrying old kill-joy when he wanted to. She was good enough, fast enough, strong enough to meet them, to maybe even train a little with them, but noooooooo.

And she was also being a moody teenager right now.

Whatever. She could be a moody teenager if she wanted to. She wasn’t the one who hadn’t shown up for dinner at her own house.

She aimed a kick at a cardboard box full of broken arrows. Clint went through a disgusting amount of arrows a month, ancient and brand new ones alike. He used them everyday, and they constantly got destroyed whenever he trained with them or pulled stupid stunts. Lucky even sat on a few one time.

Nobody got hurt, but it had been a very rough morning for all parties involved. 

 _Stupid Clint with his stupid boxes_ , she thought, and she savagely jabbed her foot at the box.

She instantly regretted it when a barb of dull pain shot through her toe. “Ow!”

Lucky let out a whine, slinking up to her and nosing her leg.

”I’m good, buddy.” She sucked in a breath through her teeth and let it out slowly as the pain ebbed. _Futz, futz, futz._  That hurt a lot.

That stupid little voice of doubt in her head started to nag at her. If she couldn’t handle a stubbed toe, how could she be an Avenger? Run with the big leagues?

She knew it was useless to stew in her juices and throw a pity party.

But she was really, really tempted to.

Either way, she was here now with Clint nowhere in sight, so she might as well stay and keep Lucky company. He wouldn't mind her crashing on his couch for a little while.

”How about some pizza, Pizza Dog?” she asked the dog. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

He thumped his tail on the ground.

”I’m thinking maybe some Hawaiian, extra thin crust, extra pineapple, extra cheese? You good with that?”

Another tail thrash against the linoleum.

“Me, too.” She grabbed the handset off the wall, twirling the coil of wire around on her finger. Seriously, who still had a handset on their _wall?_  It wasn't the '90s, Clint.

Lucky sprawled on the floor next to her. He heaved a big, whuffling sigh, casting a forlorn look at the empty pizza box in the trash can. With only one eye, he looked like he was winking all the time. Kate, like most dog owners, liked to think that the dog understood what she was saying, maybe even preferred her, but the truth was that the stinker was way too loyal to his rescuer for Kate’s liking.

And said rescuer was _not_  in Kate’s good books right now. Deadbeat dinner companion that he was.

They were going to have words later. Many, many words that he would probably ignore. It had been an impressive while since their last “spiel” (about three days), otherwise known as “Pounding-information-into-Clint’s-thick-skull sessions”. 

But for now, she was stuck with said person’s dog, ordering pizza for one and a half.

Lucky only got a slice or two, and no garlic bread, ever since Clint complained of the dog’s bad breath. No matter how much he complained and griped about the mutt, Lucky was devoted to him.

Kate, as much as she hated to admit it, loved the idiot like a big brother. You don't jump into battle with someone, risk your life for them, and not care for them. It would be physically impossible.

Still. He was an idiot.

Leaning against the counter, she decided to give that loyalty a test.

“Clint’s a loser.”

 _Thump, thump_  went Lucky’s tail on the floor.

She bit back a smile. “Yeah, I thought you’d agree.”

This was going to be the best pity party the world had ever seen.

***** 

 

The pity party was (sadly) cut short when Kate fell asleep on Clint’s couch in the middle of a recorded episode of _Dog Cops_ , a show Clint seemed to like for many inexplicable reasons.

A jarring crash jolted her from a deep sleep.

In about five seconds, she was perched on the back of the couch, reaching for her bow when she realized that (a) she did not have her bow, and (b) the sound came from an infomercial advertising chandelier cleaners blasting from the TV, which was still on.

Annoyed, she flicked off the TV, and was about to curl back up on the couch when a faint buzzing reached her ears, worming its way like an annoying mosquito.

Her phone. Just what she needed.

Kate groaned, heaving herself off the couch, making her way into the kitchen. The wood floor panels felt like ice against her bare feet, and she shivered against the cold air blasting from the ceiling vents. 

Kate tripped over Lucky about halfway across the room before she finally made it to the counter. She fumbled for her phone.

The blue light felt like knives to her bloodshot eyes. When they adjusted, she found herself face to face with a sea of...

 ...what looked like a thousand missed calls from Clint.

Crap. Her heart raced as she began to panic.

What if he was in trouble?

What if he had been lying dead in an alleyway for hours with no one to call for help except for her?

What if he was stabbed, or beaten, or kidnapped, or dead, or—

 _And it would be all your fault,_  said the tiny voice in her head. This time, she didn’t tell it to shut up. If he had called and she hadn’t picked up in time, it _would_ be her fault.

Quickly, she jabbed one at random.

Sent 10:46 PM.

She took deep breaths as she brought the phone up to her ear. Clint’s voice filled her ears.

”Hey, Kate! Just calling to make sure that, well....I gotta apologize; I forgot to tell you, but there was a team dinner at the Tower, and I forgot that I had double booked. Sorry again for that. Can we make it up later instea—“

She cut it off, barely managing to not hurl the phone across the room. Instead, she ran back to the living room, flung herself down on the couch, and buried her face in a cushion.

Of course he was hanging out with the Avengers. Where else would he be?

”REALLY, CLINT?!” she screamed into the pillow. “GAAAAAAAAH!”

 _Six-thirty, Clint_ , she’d said. _Dinner at your place_ , she’d said. _Have a little time to catch up together. Just please remember. Just an hour._

Was he just physically incapable of remembering anything she told him?

Sometimes she wondered.

When she ran out of rage-energy (which was after about five seconds), something heavy and suffocatingly furry dropped down on top of her, effectively squashing her into the couch cushions.

”Mrmmmph!” she complained, but Lucky just curled up on top of her.

”Welcome back to the pity party,” she mumbled into the couch cushions, and Lucky’s tail thumped the backs of her calves.

*****

 

 

“Kaaaatieeeee! Hey, Kate! Pick up the phone! I wanna apologize, but you’re making this hard.”

She sat at the counter, head rested on her folded arms as she listened to the never-ending list of missed voicemails.

It was kind of like listening to a verbal trainwreck in progress. Clint got drunker and drunker with each message, words slurring together like ice cream melting in the sun. His updates grew more and more vague. What had started with clear-headed reasoning had morphed into something that resembled a child learning to talk, but in reverse.

Lucky’s tail whacked the ground steadily each time a new voicemail started. Probably excited to hear Clint’s voice. Kate wished she shared that sentiment, but she had a horrible feeling she knew where this was going.

Nothing good ever happened when Clint was drunk. Nothing good happened when anyone was drunk, really, but especially with Clint. Try putting a person with the destructive capabilities the size of a small bomb into a bar, get them drunk, and let them run wild. What usually happens is that bomb explodes, and said person is left with the damage, the repair bills, and ten thousand apology letters to various officials.

It was hard to understand him between the slurred words and random crashes in the background, but from what she could gather was this:

An Avengers party was scheduled about a month ago, and everyone (even Thor) gathered at the Tower for a “little party”.

She knew he was lying about that because no party at Tony Stark’s place was ever just a “little party”.

Then, according to Clint, they’d had a nice dinner, watched some sports, and then Tony had brought out the liquor. Great job, Stark. Things had basically gone as expected from there. They had a drinking contest. Natasha, being a reasonable human being and a level-headed woman, dropped out almost immediately, Bruce not far behind her. Tony apparently had a bad history with drinking at parties, so he dropped out soon after. Cap didn’t count because of his “super sobriety” as Clint called it. In the end, it was just Thor and Clint. Not even a contest, if you asked Kate. Thor was a god. Clint was very much a human. But nobody asked Kate, per usual, so Clint got wasted while Thor stayed fine.

That was her rough translation.

Her finger hovered over the next message. She brought the phone up to her ear.

“Katie-kate! I’s me, Hawguy! Clint Barton—“ she rolled her eyes “—Uh, well, I w’s jus’ callin’ to say hey. Katie, the sky's so weird, don' you thinkso? I'so pretty. Anyway, bye Katie-kate!—“

Good _Lord_ he was drunk.

She clicked on the next message, sent 2:54 AM.

It wasn’t Clint, this time.

“Hey, um, this is Natasha Romanoff. I’m just calling because, uh, Clint probably should go home right about now. Like, really soon. So, if you could come get him that would be great. Thanks. He won’t stop drinking.”

_“End of final message.”_

Kate groaned. She buried her head in her hands. Why was Clint this way? Why? Why? Why?

She finally heaved herself up off the couch

“C’mon, Lucky. We have to go rescue our resident idiot from himself.”

The dog looked about as happy as she felt.

*****

 

Many people said that the Avenger’s Tower was an eyesore. Some said that it was a sight to behold. 

Kate was somewhere in the middle of the two groups.

It was cool looking, but was huge and took up a lot of space and only benefitted a select amount of people. Yeah, the Avengers lived there, but they could live in apartments, like Clint.

Still, as her taxi pulled up to building, she had to admit the place looked pretty cool at night, all lit up on self-sustaining energy or whatever.

Despite this being her first time at the Tower, she was a little distracted, and barely payed attention to the fact that the elevator was talking to her. She picked up on the Irish lilt, but none of the words.

 _Ding_. The doors slid open. Kate walked out, and immediately froze.

In front of her, in the flesh, stood _Captain Flipping America._ It was her childhood fantasy come true, minus the costume. Blue eyes, blonde hair, and serious expression on his handsomely chiseled face. He was just as tall, handsome, and muscular as the history textbooks made him out to be. Her fluttering heart immediately started fangirling. She had the sudden urge to ask for an autograph. 

“H-hi,” Kate stammered. Heat rushed to her face, and she was suddenly hyper-aware of the way she looked. Here was this put together hero, _god_  really, standing right in front of her, and _of course_  she was in the clothes she had slept in. She was pretty sure she had the world’s worst case of bed head. God, why was she such a klutz right now. Where were her words? “I-I’m Kate. Bishop. Kate Bishop.”

“Steve Rogers,” the living-legend replied, stoically meeting her awkwardly outstretched hand with a firm, enveloping grip. She forcibly tore her gaze away from his jawline in order to appear like a functioning human. 

“I’m Kate Bishop,” Kate repeated, then mentally slapped herself. She was starting to sound like Clint. That was never a good sign.

“Very nice to meet you, Miss Bishop.” Ever polite. She was burning with embarrassment.

A red-haired woman stalked up behind Captain America. She exuded an aura of deadly confidance, and, despite the fact that she was dressed in a blouse, black dress pants and high heels, Kate knew that this woman could take her down in an instant without even breaking a sweat. It was clear that this woman was the famous Black Widow that Clint talked about. 

Natasha Romanoff, former Russian assassin and S.H.I.E.L.D. agent extraordinaire gave Kate a once over before turning back to the living area. “You got my call. Clint got rid of Stark’s liquor collection for him. It’s a bit of a disaster.”

Kate followed the two heroes into a tastefully decorated bar and living room, complete with a fully stocked bar two levels, and a gorgeous view of the city. Expensive furniture speckled the two floors, furniture probably more expensive than Kate’s whole apartment. This was Tony Stark, after all.

Speaking of Stark, the man himself was lounging on a chair, a glass of what looked like whiskey in his hand. Beside him sat Thor, god of thunder and destroyer of Clint.

And speaking of Clint...

”Katie-kate!”

Kate’s heart sank. She turned around. Clint staggered across the room, weaving wildly. He slammed into the small counter, nearly going down.

He looked terrible. His skin was flushed so much he looked like a ripe tomato, skin slick with sweat and shirt soaked with it. She could see that he was trying to walk towards her, but he kept veering off to the side, crashing into obstacles in his path, like vases, or chairs, or Steve Rogers.

Her heart plunged even further. She hadn’t seen him this drunk in a very long time.

Yes, he drank, but usually in moderation. He knew his limits, and he usually avoided pushing them because it brought back bad memories.

As he stumbled closer, she caught a glimpse of his eyes. The baby blues, usually razor-sharp, were wide and unfocused, like he couldn’t decide if she was far away or close to him. And she guessed that the half-empty beer that sloshed around with him probably wasn’t his first.

And the _smell:_  he smelled so strongly of alcohol, he could’ve passed as a disinfectant wipe.

_Lord, Clint. What did you get yourself into?_

It took him a while, but when he finally reached her, he managed to trip over his own feet, making no attempts to catch himself. She caught him, plucking the bottle of beer out of his hands.

“Aww, heeeyyy!” he whined drunkenly, making weak grabs for the bottle she just barely managed to keep out of reach.

He was incredibly heavy. Kate staggered beneath his limp weight until someone politely plucked the bottle from her, freeing both of her hands.

She looped her forearms under Clint’s armpits and, after a few attempts, managed to heave him to his feet.

Quite a feat, considering how much he weighed. He wasn’t fat; in fact, far from it. Hours and hours of training with the most elite athletes of the world had left him muscular and buff. Add that to his six foot three frame, and

 _Come one Clint,_  she thought. _Work with me here._ “Nuh-uh. No more for you, mister.”

He put on a pouty face. “But Kaaaate...”

”No. End of conversation.”

”But the bottle was gonna *hic* tell me somethin’.”

”Oh really?” She lowered him down softly onto one of the million-dollar couches, steering clear of the coffee table. “And what was that?”

He shot her a conspiratorial wink that would’ve been much more effective if his eyes hadn’t been crossed. “‘S a secret.”

“Sure, Hawkguy.”

“Excuse me?” A new voice started hesitantly. Kate turned around. A humble-looking man with dark, curly hair cleared his throat and pushed a pair of rimless glasses up his nose. Despite the unassuming stature of the man, she knew that appearances could be deceiving. Bruce Banner’s IQ and his alter ego were a force to be reckoned with.

“Are you Kate Bishop?” asked the scientist, confirmed her suspicions that Clint didn’t talk about her to the team. Disappointing, but not totally surprising. She nodded in response.

Tony walked over. He reminded Kate of a cat; outwardly relaxed but easily able to snap into action just like that. He waved his unoccupied hand idley in her direction. “And you are who again?”

”...Kate Bishop.”

”Not what I meant.” Tony parked himself on the arm of the couch. “What’s Barton got to do with you? Lemme guess: young girlfriend? Illegal child? Charity case?”

”Tony,” Steve warned from where he stood behind the couch.

”What? I’m just asking. Is it not suspicious to you that we’ve never heard of this girl, and out of the blue she pops up, and Barton seems to know her. Very well, I might add.” He took a nonchalant sip out of his glass. “I’m just saying.”

Kate’s sense of righteous anger hadn’t caught up with her yet, but she was still pissed off and more than a little hurt. And embarrassed. Don’t forget the embarrassment.

Bruce made a placating gesture with his hands. “We would like to know how you know Clint, though,” he said, almost apologetically.

Kate sighed. This was _not_  how she wanted to meet the Avengers. Not at all. “Clint’s my mentor.”

A pause. And then, “Say what?” said Tony.

”My mentor. He’s been training me to be Hawkeye as well for a while now. Once he saw what kind of shot I was, he kinda took me in, trained me, and helped me set up a life here as his apprentice.”

The room sat in stunned silence, all of the Avengers, except Natasha, looking like they’d been told Clint could talk to animals. Kate began to shift uncomfortably.

Then, a gleeful smile spread over Stark’s face. “Barton’s got a _kid._ He’s turning into an old man on us!”

”He’s more like a really annoying sibling,” Kate muttered in defense of...well, not Clint. Stark cackled until Steve shushed him.

”Where were you before?” the living legend asked. He had genuine interest written all over his face. Interest in _her._  Kate had to bite back a smile and a fangirl squeal. Then she processed his question, and the fangirl in her died a little.

”I...was on my own, then.”

”Did you not have parents?” asked Thor, speaking for the first time. He looked hilariously normal in his button down and khaki pants. 

 _Stop prying. Not about that._  “Eh...sorta.”

”What do you mean, sort of?” boomed Thor. “I was under the impression that Midgardians had to have parents in order to be born. Were you spawned?” He sounded fascinated with the idea.

”No.” Her face was red, wasn’t it? Glowing red, probably.

”Did you spring from an egg?”

“No.”

”Were you spewed from the corpse of a bilgesnipe-“

”Thor,” Bruce interrupted, cutting Thor off midsentence. “No, she was not. Earth–um, Midgard doesn’t have bilge-whatcha-call-its.”

”Bilgesnipes,” Thor provided helpfully.

”Right.” Bruce scratched his neck. He looked more uncomfortable with the whole situation than Kate. “Well, thanks for coming, Ms. Bishop.”

”Kate,” she corrected by habit. “Ms. Bishop’s my mom.” Aww, crap. Misstep Level Ten, Kate.

”So you do have parents!” Thor boomed delightedly.

“Do you want one of us to drive you home?” Natasha asked, cutting Thor off again. It didn’t sound like a question.

“Nope,” she affirmed shakily. The assassin’s glare bored straight through the back of her skull.

 _Stay calm, Kate_ _. You’re just as much Hawkeye as Clint is. Pull it together._ For the second time that night, she felt horribly underdressed. The fact that she was standing around in a sweatshirt with the words _I Would♡ NYC If Everyone Left_  and sweatpants with bow and arrow patterns all over them.

She forced her voice to level out. “That’s really nice of you guys, but we’re okay. And if Clint’s had as much goofy juice as you say he has, it’s probably better for me to get him home as soon as possible. And none of you know where we live.”

”Goofy juice?” Thor rumbled. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

”She means alchohol, Thor,” Dr. Banner chimed in. He looked exhausted.

They all did, save for Clint, Thor, and Tony Stark. Kate wondered how many of them had been energized when the party was still going on.

Clint interrupted them all by throwing up all over his shirt. Tony started yelling, and Steve tried to placate him while Bruce rushed the archer off to the bathroom to get cleaned up.

Kate wandered around the awe inspiring architecture to the window. The view of the city was breathtaking, all the windows of light speckled around to cast a glow. All of these pinpoints of electric hope were what Kate loved so much about The City That Never Sleeps. Her city. Just a small reminder that, no matter what, she was never alone in the world, even when times got rough. She always had something to fight for.

Sighing, she slid her gaze along the countless panels of windows that served as walls, and nearly jumped.

The red-head had sidled up beside her, unnoticed, which was a pretty impressive feat. Clint had trained Kate in the art of keeping her guard up, constantly being on the lookout. Using all of your senses.

But this woman had been trained since she was a child to master the art of snooping, sneaking, and killing. Kate was hilariously outmatched.

Natasha leaned against the counter and sipped her drink like it was a fine French bordeau, even though it was just a glass of water.

Kate was grateful for that. After the night’s events, she was pretty sure she never wanted to see another drop of alchohol for the rest of her life.

“You and Clint seem close,” Black Widow said, still looking out across the room. Her tone was indifferent, her body posture relaxed, but there was a tightness around her eyes, her mouth.

Not jealousy, Kate guessed. Suspicion.

 

“We are,” she said simply, quietly gauging the woman’s reaction. All she got was a raised eyebrow.

A sound from the other end of the living room alerted them to Clint and Bruce’s return. Kate’s mentor was leaning heavily on the other man, dressed in a too-tight button down shirt, presumably Bruce’s, who looked like he was wearing a similar shirt. Kate looked over at Natasha to see how she reacted to this. Maybe this sort of thing happened a lot at the Tower.

Natasha was gone, already rushing over to take Clint’s weight off the good doctor. Clint leaned on her with an intimacy that Kate wasn’t used to seeing him display. Clint cared a lot about other people, but he only trusted a few people like that. Granted, he was drunk, but still. A sharp spike of protectiveness surprised her when it coursed itself through her veins.

What was she thinking? If Natasha took care of Clint, which she did on S.H.I.E.L.D. missions, then Kate was happy for him. More people was good. More people meant he wouldn’t do stupid, Clintish things like this.

Shaking herself off, she went to help them, and together they all stumbled into the elevator (Clint sang a song about baby sharks and dying swimmers the whole way down that would probably be stuck in Kate’s head forever), out of the lobby, and to a cab that Natasha waved down.

They piled Clint into the back first, and then Natasha turned to Kate with a fierce, terrifying look. It was almost surreal, standing face to face with one of Earth’s Mightiest Heroes on the curb of the world’s first self-sustaining building in the dead of a New York night.

”Take care of him,” was all she said. Not even questioning Kate’s relationship to Clint, or her motives, or anything that Kate would be suspicious of if a random stranger was about to drive off with her best friend.

She looked closer. Beneath all the threatening layers, there was a barely visible glimmer of concern. For Clint. Kate realized that she and Natasha Romanoff might not be so different, after all. The Black Widow just wanted to get Clint home safely. Kate was the way that was going to happen. The assassin had put trust in her to take care of him.

Kate straightened up, meeting her eye-to-eye. “Of course.”

Her voice might’ve squeaked embarrassingly, but whatever. Natasha was already walking back toward the tower, so Kate slid into the taxi beside Clint and gave the driver their directions. If he noticed that there was an Avenger in his car, he didn’t say anything.

“Thanks for pickin’ me up, Katie-kate,” Clint slurred, grinning dopily at a point behind her.

She smiled through her exhaustion at him. “No problem.”

They sat in silence for a while.

Then, ”Kaaatieee...”

“Yeah, Clint?”

”Are you a magician?”

”No, Clint. Why?”

”’Cause you’re doin’ somethin’ really weird with your head right now.” He traced a shaky finger in the air slightly to the right of her ear. “You’re head’s s’pposed to be right here. But it’s not.”

”You’re drunk, Clint. You have double vision. Totally normal.”

”Ahhh, okay.” He looked like she’d just told him the meaning of life. He nodded sagely. “Gotcha.”

They drove a little longer before he piped up again at a stoplight.

”Katie?”

”Yes, Clint?” She wondered if this was what being a mother of a little kid felt like. If so, she swore never to have kids.

”Why’re the cats walking on two legs?”

Confused, Kate looked at where he was pointed and spotted a group of college students in skinny jeans and leather boots, giggling their way along the sidewalk. Sorority, she guessed. “Clint, those aren’t cats. Those are people.”

”They _are?”_

“Yeah, and I don’t think they’d appreciate being called cats.”

”Oh, okay.” He nodded, before he hollored through the window, “SORRY, CATS!”

”Oh my God,” Kate said quietly as he turned back to her with a huge grin on his face. “Yeah, good job Clint. Nice apologizing.”

”You’re sweet, Katie.”

Minutes pass.

Beautiful, silent minutes.

Then, “Katie?”

She bit back a sigh. If this went on much longer, she was going to implode from embarrassment. She glanced at the taxi driver, but he wasn’t paying much attention. Probably had bigger things to worry about then drunk passengers. “Yes?”

“I really think you’re cool, you know?”

”Thanks, Clint.”

”You’re one of the best things that happened to me,” he continued earnestly.

Even though he was drunk, she couldn’t help but smile at the comment. Sober Clint would never say something like this. Sober Clint was western masculinity in a bottle, unable to tell her what he was feeling because he might seem weak. So she took Wasted Clint’s words and held them close. “Thanks, you idiot.”

 ”Heeey, tha’s meeean...” 

Silence fell over them again. She took turns looking at the city fly by, and watching him watch the city fly by. He was like a toddler in an amusement park, giggling hysterically over a neon sign for a sushi restaurant, a woman in a parka, the stoplight. She rolled her eyes and turned back to the window.

“Katie?”

You will not turn, she told herself. Do not bow to his whim. No remorse.

”You’re really nice.”

Without turning away from the window, she responded. “Thanks, Clint.”

”And nice.”

”Thanks, Clint.”

”My mom wasn’ as nice as you.”

Kate wasn’t sure how to answer that. Hesitantly, she replied, “...Thanks, Clint.”

”She didn’t really like me.”

”Ok, Clint.” She wasn’t sure she liked where this was going.

”She didn’t really care when Dad hit us.”

Kate froze. This drunken rambling had taken a very dark turn way too quickly. “What?”

”Yeah, and she liked wine. A lotta wine. But not me or Barney.”

Kate had experience with Clint when he was drunk, but never had this happened before. It was like she was in the room with a very dangerouss machine with no idea how to cut it off before things got bad. If only she had a manual or a guide telling her what the heck to do right now.

”I’m sorry, Clint,” she replied carefully. “I-I don’t think you should be telling me this. Why don’t we—“

He cut her off with a clumsy wave of his hand that almost hit her in the face. “No, i’s fine! I like you, Katie-kate, so i’s all good. I didn’ like my dad so much, though. He was mean.”

 _Oh no, Clint. Don’t do this_. He would never tell her anything like this if he were sober. It felt like an invasion of privacy.

Her hands clenched tighter on the strings of her sweatshirt, but she kept her gaze fixed steadily on the partition separating them from the driver. 

"My da’ used t’ drink.”

“Ok, Clint.”

“My dad, he liked to drink a lot. Tha’s how he died,” he continued, growing somber for a moment. “Ran into a tree. Ma died too. Barney ‘n’ I were at the circus.”

The look of unconcealed devastation in his unfocused eyes was a stark contrast to his cheerful, albeit very intoxicated, tone.

”An’ then he’d hit me,” he rambled on, words slurring together until they were hardly distinguishable. “Whenever I was bad, he hit me. Liked clockin’ me around the head. Didn’t care if I said it hurt. Told me to ‘suck it up’. Guess he was tryin’ to get me to be a better man or somethin’ like that.

"Never got the chance to ask him, though. He drank so much, he rammed right into a tree. Did I tell you that? But tha’s how I los’ my hearing for the first time. Barney was great, though. He got us outta there, and we got to join the circus. I already told you that too, didn’ I?”

The lamplight cast a glow on the loopy grin spreading across his face. “The circus, Katie. We got to go to the circus and do stuff for them. Like in a f@#%ing storybook. The guys were nice if you got ‘em money. But if not they could kill ya. Barney stole, I shot arrows. Pretty cool right?”

”Mm-hmm.” It hurt Kate to agree with him.

”Yeah! Yeah, that happened. But my mentor, you know how I’m your mentor? Mine was Trickshot and Swordsman. But Swordsman, he wasn’t a good dude. I almos’ turned him into the fuzz, right? But then he got mad, and I almos’ died, but that’s okay. I’m here now. Right? Isn’t that pretty cool?”

”That’s great, Clint.”

It was so, so not great. Kate choked back her tears, swallowing hard.

Clint grinned like he was telling the world's funniest joke. 

“Yeah...” he trailed off. “Was great...”

His eyes drifted shut into sleep, leaving Kate a complete mess of tears and horror. _What_  had she just heard? Was that Clint’s childhood? She thought she had it bad. Well, she did, but nothing compared to him.

She was still in shock when the taxi driver pulled up to Clint’s apartment, and she only came to from her daze when he banged on the partition. Quickly, she fumbled him his pay, dragged Clint up the apartment stairs, and somehow got him on the couch without incident.

Yes. Miracles do happen.

With the couch occupied, Kate went into the bathroom to wash her face. She glanced at her reflection. Shadows marred her cheeks, dozens of bloodshot veins visible in her eyes. Her hair was in surprisingly good shape. Huh. She usually would wonder if it was too late to get an autograph from Captain America, but her conversation with Clint was still echoing through her ears.

Yes, Sober Clint was more reserved, but Kate now understood just the extent of why. She would be, too, with a past like that. She felt horrible for thinking it, but she really missed Sober Clint. Steady, reliable (except for time), goofy, clumsy, confidant Sober Clint. Sober Clint would know what to do with this situation. He would know what to say.

 _Sober Clint would hate that you heard all of this,_  Kate thought to herself. She hoped Clint wouldn’t remember what happened tonight. _But you always will._

She forced herself to wipe the tears from her face, splashed her face with cold water until the red puffiness faded away. Clint couldn’t see her reacting like this. She forced herself to compartmentalize. She shoved this tiny kernel away deep inside of her. This wouldn’t change how she saw Clint. She just admired him more. No pity from her.

Put on your brave face, Hawkeye, Kate told herself. For Clint.

*****

 

Turns out there was no need to but on her brave face. Clint was passed out cold when she came back. She passed out on the rug of the living room not long after, and woke up the next morning to the sound of a toilet flushing.

Ah, Kate realized. Today is the day Clint regrets everything.

She was right. When she rapped on the door, all she heard from inside was retching, then Clint saying, “What the _hell_  did I do to myself last night.”

She bit back a smile despite herself. “You took it upon yourself to clear Stark’s bar out for him.”

A groan. “Why am I an idiot?”

”I ask myself that everyday.”

He didn’t even respond to her.

Kate started making pancakes for herself and Lucky, and a glass of water for Clint, figuring he wouldn’t be too hungry. He confirmed her suspicions when he stumbled in a few minutes later, mumbling, “I’ll pass.”

”Got you water.”

”Thanks, Hawkeye.”

After the pancakes were done, she sat down next to him. Lucky munched on his plain pancakes beneath them.

Clint looked even worse than he had last night, which was saying a lot. He looked like the textbook definition of the word “hangover”: hair on end, half lidded eyes with bags beneath them, rumpled clothing, scruff, all of it. She silently handed him the cup of water, which he took in equally silent gratitude.

She waited for a few minutes until she could barely stand it anymore. Then she asked softly, “Do you remember last night?”

He paused for a second, before nodding, then wincing like it hurt. “Yeah. All of it.”

Her heart sank. “Even the taxi ride?”

”Yeah.”

A pause in which she silently panicked. Would things be weird now that he told her. She vowed that nothing would come between their relationship, but this could do it.

”Hey Kate?”

Kate’s head shot up. “Yeah?”

”I don’t regret it.”

”Regret what?”

”Telling you.”

She goggled at him like he’d grown a second head. “Really?”

He continued. “Yeah, ever since the...thing happened. With the clown. And Barney. That thing, I’ve been meaning to tell you. I just never meant for you to hear it from a drunk me.” He frowned. “Or me drunk. Whatever. Point is, I trust you. So I think you get to know.”

Maybe not as waxingly poetic as his confessions the previous night, but still, just wow. Enormous leaps for Clint. Kate could almost feel that tiny kernel begin to melt from the warmth glowing in her heart. _Thank you,_  she wanted to say. _I trust you, too._ But what came out was, “You still owe me dinner.”

He grinned. “Whatever you want.”

Things were back to usual. And even if they weren’t, maybe it was better that way.

Maybe she didn’t have to wait anymore.


End file.
